


ex animo ad astris

by konoyo



Category: Inception (2010), Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Android!Eames, Canon-Typical Violence, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Security Officer!Arthur, everyone else is there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo
Summary: The crew of the USS Edith has dealt with its share of ups, downs and strange mishaps but some things are just not going to stay hidden for long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now with art!

The engines screech in protest as the ship is abruptly pulled out of warp and the whole bridge crew is thrown unceremoniously to the floor amid the clamor of torpedo fire. Sparks are already flying and it takes Arthur a couple of seconds to realize which way is up and then several more to clamber up into his seat where the controls are vying for his attention in varying shades of red.

"What the hell just happened?" Mal demands from the captain's chair, where she's pulling herself up over the arm. The comms immediately fill with chatter in the otherwise silent air. No more torpedoes or phaser fire. Everything came and went, just like that. The only thing on the viewscreen is black space. Maybe there is no damage besides a few bruises either...

No such luck. "There's a hull breach on decks 11, 12 and 13, sickbay has been hit hardest," Arthur says in response to Mal's question because that seems more pressing than _I don't know_. "Several casualties although the section that has been breached is sealed off. There's... Nothing on the close or long range scanners, sir. Engineering?"

A bustling Yusuf confirms that the warp engines are and were in complete working order and that there was no real reason they dropped out of warp like that. That just leaves the science department to explain what had happened and Arthur leaves Mal to yell at her husband, instead paging sickbay. The injured need care.

"Bridge to Doctor Eames."

Nothing.

"Eames, do you copy?" Shit. Sickbay had been hit and their shields had been down and now there is probably a gaping hole instead of wall of equipment specifically designed to deal with this sort of thing. And they need their smarmy know-it-all of a chief medical officer to fix this mess.

"Eames?" He switches tactics. "Computer, locate Doctor Eames."

"Doctor Eames is on deck twelve."

Arthur sighs. At least he's still on the ship. That's promising. "Sickbay, does anyone copy? Where is the CMO? He's not answering his comm badge."

"Doctor Eames was in his office at the time of the... Explosion, sir," a lieutenant's voice comes over the comm. "What is left of it is behind an emergency forcefield to stop further decompression."

"Shit," Arthur says, forgetting that the lieutenant can hear him. "Is there anyone left to command?" he asks, and when the lieutenant drawls a clearly dazed ‘uh', he adds on: "I'm going down there. Captain?"

Mal nods to him from where she is now hovering over a console with Dom. Arthur sprints towards the turbolift.

The amount of damage on deck 12 is massive. The corridors are filled with smoke and all the consoles are sparking although Arthur is glad to see cleanup crews already starting to round up the injured into the only area of sickbay and the biomedical labs that aren't destroyed. Some of the doors are ajar and Arthur shudders. Instead of offices and beds there's just empty blackness. The door of the CMO's office is closed, a telltale glimmer of forcefield around it.

He pauses before even attempting to open it. Shit.

*******

"Are you afraid of space, Lieutenant Commander?"

The man in science blues who has been loitering in the transporter room and biting his thumb for the past couple of minutes looks at him with some surprise. Like it isn't painfully obvious that he is nervous. His eyes cut down to the pins on Arthur's collar and then the color of Arthur's uniform. Then lower and Arthur quirks a brow.

"Dying in space, perhaps?" he says, with some vindictiveness. "Your blood boiling in the vacuum? An ion storm wiping out all life support?"

"Something of the sort. I take it you aren't the counselor," the man states with a chuckle, but he is visibly more relaxed. Pity, there's always degree of schadenfreude to be taken from scaring the wits from the new recruits, whether they are lower ranking or not. He vaguely wonders what the man was nervous about in the first place and notes it in the back of his mind. Habits like that are hard to break.

"Arthur Hale. Chief of security and chief tactical officer. And you are?" Arthur extends his hand.

The man accepts the handshake. "Eames. Just Eames. Chief medical officer assigned to the USS Edith. I am in the right place, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, Just Eames. Would you like to come see the sickbay or are you happy to spend the next several years in this transporter room?" Eames squints at him but smiles like he really likes him.

Arthur lets himself feel smug and turns to leave, only letting the corner of his lips tick up when he knows their new CMO can't see.

*******

Arthur takes a deep breath and punches in his authorization code to unlock the door. It slides open and Arthur is once again confronted with the blank darkness of space. _Fuck_. The doorjamb is suddenly much closer than it used to be and he leans against it, running his fingers through his hair. "Computer," he says, though he knows it's useless, "check for life signs in the office of the chief medical officer."

"No life signs detected."

"Okay..." Another deep breath. "Computer, push forcefield to the edge of the wreckage."

"New forcefield established."

There's a sudden breeze through the door as air rushes in to fill the gap left behind by the decompression and Arthur lets it push him half a step into the room. The only things that are left are what had been bolted down - the light fixtures and the table, as well as one chair that had gotten caught on a table leg. And... Eames, fingers pressed to the console pad inside the room.

"I was wondering when you were going to move that forcefield," Eames sighs out as Arthur gapes at him. "Sound doesn't travel very well in a vacuum, you see, which makes comming a bit difficult. And here I thought I had gotten that door open all on my own..."

He's fine. Or, at first it looks like he's fine, because there's a blue glow coming from the wound on his forehead and when he turns towards Arthur, there is a similar blue glow around the tear in his uniform around his shoulder where there's... No arm. The arm is on the floor, wires poking out of the severed side.

"Who are you?" Arthur asks, pointing his phaser at what must be an imposter. It must be. Eames is human. He looked over that record himself. Humans don't emit a blue glow. Humans don't survive in a vacuum for over ten minutes. "Who are you? Where is Eames?"

Eames turns, raising his one arm upward in surrender. "Arthur." He's displaying his injury more obviously now and Arthur flinches at the sight. It's clearly synthetic, with some leaking fluid. "Arthur, it's me. It is Eames."

"What's your first name?" Arthur demands and the impostor makes a face that's so much like Eames that Arthur's hand falters.

"You looked it up, didn't you?" not-Eames grumbles. Arthur trains his phaser up again.

"Of course I did. Just because you enjoy falsifying your records and I have to spend hours correcting them, doesn't-" He stops himself. "Just answer the question."

"But-" he drops his arm and Arthur shoots him on instinct, pressing his comm badge as soon the imposter crumples to the floor.

"You all knew?" Arthur says at length, when the rest of the commanding officers - save Dom - have piled into what remains of the CMO's office. He doesn't have to ask. The guilt is clear on all their faces. Yusuf smiles nervously as he kneels at Eames' prone body but doesn't say anything. Neither does Ariadne, doe eyes darting between Arthur and Eames now, as if she can't determine which one of them needs more help. Mal is tight lipped but there is a softness to her half-Vulcan features, which he hopes is regret but looks suspiciously more like pity. "I am responsible for the security of this ship and you didn't see it fit to tell _me_? You didn't _trust_ me with this information?" He could make an emphasis on the Star Fleet rules, bring up the specific sections of the code this violates. But he can't. It feels personal.

The silence stretches enough that Eames comes to, and Yusuf helps him into the one remaining chair so he could get at the shoulder socket. Arthur takes one glance and looks away.

"Arthur-" Eames is the one who breaks the silence, but Arthur cuts him off immediately.

"No, I don't want to hear it. I don't. I _trusted_ you," he says as he storms out of the room, leaving them. There are plenty of things to be doing. A star ship doesn't run itself. And there is an emergency situation on.

*******

"It could be worse," Eames says as he swings his feet from where they're tied up back to back on the edge of a cliff, awaiting some sort of ritual sacrifice or other. They're dressed in garb resembling Ancient Roman - of all the things - and there are some alien versions of alligators down below. What these people are waiting for exactly Arthur cannot say. Something is messing with their universal translators. The correct angle of the two suns for all he knows.

"Really?" Arthur deadpans. He supposes they could be freezing someplace where he would be denied the sight of Eames' muscled thighs and arms, for the brief time he had allowed himself to stare before the mission started, but it really could not get much worse than this.

"Mal will get us out of here. They must have gotten back to the ship by now." Arthur puffs out air and knocks his head back against Eames. It hurts him more than it hurts Eames but he's satisfied to hear the yelp of pain. "Okay, okay, so it's not like I can untie the ropes when I'm dangling over a cliff face here," Eames complains. "We can swing it, maybe, but I don't want to take that risk."

"Let's do it."

"Arthur, I will not be responsible for your death because I miscalculated the strength of this rope or the distance to the other side."

Arthur sighs. "Did you do the math right? It's basic geometry with an application of physics, I trust you you learned at least that much in grade school, didn't you?"

"But-"

"Look," Arthur cuts him off. "Just tell me what to do so we can get out of these stupid, sweaty outfits. If there are scratches or broken bones, I know someone who can fix them."

"I don't have any medical equipment with me," Eames says churlishly. "If the rope breaks-"

"We die, or we die a little bit later in the same fashion with more than two guards as witness. Come on, they didn't give us this length of rope for nothing, Eames." This feels weird, that he's the one offering encouragement when it's usually Eames, but he's sick of sitting out in the suns, getting burned and being unable to do anything about it.

"Alright."

A daring leap, a chase, a fight, some theft and two rigged tricorders later, when they're safe aboard the Edith, Eames claps a hand where Arthur's neck meets his shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against against the collar of Arthur's uniform. That's all the thanks he needs.

*******

Mal is the one who follows Arthur down the corridor. He can only hope that everyone else will disperse to help at whatever station they're needed. If he's good at anything it's compartmentalizing and getting things done. "Breaches on all levels have been mended but the force fields are draining our power. There's no way we can go to warp either, we'll have to sit it out and wait for Starfleet to send help. Did you-"

"The message has already been sent. Most pressing things have already been taken care of. Can you spare some time to talk?"

Arthur checks a sigh, taps his PADD once on the tips of his fingers and turns around. It's not often the Captain is in the wrong so he's decided to hear what she has to say. He knows he shouldn't be half upset by all of this as he is but... Mal leads them into an empty lounge.

"You must understand, no one was meant to find out at all, should our good doctor have his way-"

"He lied to Starfleet, too, I fucking knew it. Not that I'm surprised."

Mal chews her bottom lip, a distinctly un-Vulcan gesture. It's clear she's still at odds within herself about that specific issue. "On his application, it says he is of Earth. That is true, although he is not human. He did not lie, simply omitted certain truths."

"It's true?" Arthur looks at her skeptically and she shrugs.

"He gave his word. So you can understand why we agreed to keep it a secret - even with the precedent of Lieutenant Commander Data-"

"His word," Arthur scoffs. "He didn't actually tell you anything, did he?"

Mal makes a face - slightly consternated and a shade embarrassed. "It seemed impolite to press. And there's no threat to the ship and, of course, if we lose our Chief Medical Officer now, a replacement..."

Arthur sighs. She's right from the practical standpoint. "And you didn't tell me."

"We all found out... By accident. A disruptor blast on Askion IV and falling rubble on Aethia II. We were thankful to get away with our lives, a secret seemed little in comparison. You understand."

*******

Arthur smiles as Eames falls into step beside him but does so into his PADD. If he enjoys Eames' company it doesn't mean the man's ego needs to be any bigger. "What are you doing up during gamma shift, Lieutenant Commander? I didn't take you for someone who pays the replimat midnight visits," Eames says with an air of someone who will put it on Arthur's medical record whether it is or isn't true.

"We ran afoul of some Klingons. There was no harm done and I'm heading back to bed. Have you really waylaid me to ask about my eating habits?"

Eames grins. "If it _were_ midnight visits, I thought I'd ask you to drop by my quarters sometime on the way back."

Arthur rolls his eyes but it's fond. He's come to expect Eames' brand of flirting, even perhaps enjoy it. "You're barely in your quarters if I wanted to drop by. Med bay seems a more likely place to find you." In reality, Eames isn't a chore to look at, funny, capable, talented as a doctor and probably in bed as well if his swagger is to be believed. It could be something of a break for both of them. "Don't give out invitations you're not going to honor, Mr. Eames," Arthur says as he stops at the door to his quarters.

Eames mouth is parted in a small 'o' before it splits back into a grin. "I am a man of my word, darling. You ring, I'll answer." Arthur laughs softly and turns away to put in the passcode. Flirting back definitely feels different.

"Good night, Mr. Eames."

*******

"I understand," Arthur says. "And I'm sure he's more than capable to continue his duties. But I don't like it. That said... Are... repairs going to be as difficult as they will be for the ship?"

"I do not know. You should ask him yourself." Mal's comm badge buzzes and she turns on her heel to answer the summons to the bridge. Arthur has no choice but he dallies with the PADD a little bit more before heading back into medbay to find Eames.

He doesn't get to talk to him right away. Arm hastily bandaged back into place and hanging useless, the CMO is part of a rapidly rushing current of medical personnel setting patients up on bio beds, running about with a tricorder and hyposprays. There is no news from the bridge so Arthur joins in, helping where he can and losing track of both Eames and his anger.

It's later still, when he is summoned to the bridge for a debriefing. Their bump in the road had been some kind of wormhole-like thing - the scientific term, according to Dom Cobb - that had transported the Edith to a completely different location or even dimension for a split second, collided them with something there and then spit them back out. It could never be something simple, Arthur thinks privately. Like a cloaked mine or a pocket of gas. Then again, that was the reason they signed up for this mission. In any case, there is not much to do but wait for help to come. Forty-three hours from now.

That's more than enough time. Arthur goes to find Eames again, this time determined to talk. When he doesn't find him in medbay he doesn't even have to ask anyone to start for engineering. It's only logical, now that he knows Eames is an _android_. Fucking hell.

"Ah," Eames says when Arthur steps around a corner. He's sitting shirtless on a bench with a screwdriver stuck in the socket of his shoulder, which is extremely strange to look at. Besides, he can't think of the last time he saw a screwdriver, let alone used one. Maybe Eames isn't lying about being from Earth.

"Ah," Arthur mimics, crossing his arms and leaning back on the wall opposite where Eames is sitting. He's tired, so he starts with that. "Do you even sleep?"

"Four hours is the minimum time for a 24-hour charge. I rather prefer six," Eames says conversationally, still rustling around inside himself with the screwdriver.

It's disconcerting. "Do you need help?" Arthur snaps, already walking forward to straddle the bench and peer at Eames' shoulder. Then, since he'd been thinking about it: "And do you even have a cock? Or were you just leading me on?"

Eames startles and pulls his shoulder away from where Arthur had began to inspect it, turning his torso to face Arthur with a scandalized expression. "I would never-"

Arthur simply glares. He figures Eames has earned that. If Eames wanted Arthur to be polite and politically correct, he shouldn't have waited for his secret to come out like it did.

Eames seems to get the gist of it and settles back down, bringing his shoulder back within reach. "I do. And it's perfectly serviceable. Now if you want to help, can you get the two screws down there in the socket?"

"What century were you even made in?" Arthur asks, not rushing with the screws so he can take a look at what Eames is made of. The upper layer, where fat and muscle ought to be, is the glowing blue tech that is so advanced Arthur can barely make heads or tails of it. It moves as Eames does, twitching and fluttering like real muscle, and he can see something like wires of veins running down into that mass. The bones are much more slender than those of a human and are hollow, with more decipherable and rather hastily reconnected wiring running through them. A couple of ancient looking microchips as well, an array of which is only half screwed down. He's itching to get a magnifier but he doubts he'll be able to comprehend the mixture of the extremely old with the extraordinarily cutting edge. He gingerly reaches in with the screwdriver. " _Who_ made you?"

Eames sighs, put upon, but answers: "I made this specific body, and several others before it as technology improved but my first living moment was in 2053, if you must know."

" _2053_?" Arthur stops what he's doing with the screwdriver and stares at Eames' profile. The last year of World War III, a decade before the Earth became warp capable and first contact... Shit.

"Yup," Eames says matter-of-factly, like he isn't over three hundred years old.

Arthur gapes for a little while longer, until Eames starts to turn his head, then busies himself with the tiny screws. Silence reigns for the small amount of time it takes Arthur to tighten each screw, then hand the screwdriver back. Eames takes it and hands him an hyperspanner instead. Arthur assumes he's supposed to seal the whole thing up and starts in on it. Now that he's using his fingers to push the blue fiber together, he can tell it's hot, like a real wound would be. The skin material, whatever it is, stretches like real skin would under his touch and there are light hair follicles dusting it, not to mention the ink of tattoos just under the surface. How? There are no birthmarks, freckles or moles, however, so that's at least something. Arthur has read the personnel file of Lieutenant Commander Data in a fit of boredom and given the description, there was absolutely no way Data - or his brothers - could be mistaken for human. Eames however...

"If you've got questions, now is the time to ask them," Eames says, shifting and making a mess of Arthur's handiwork.

"Sit still!" Arthur demands and pushes roughly at Eames' deltoid. Eames barely budges. That's something else.

"Seriously though. We've covered how old I am and my dick. And I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. It's not like there's a good time to bring it up."

Arthur frowns and stares at the hyperspanner doing its work. Eames isn't wrong and Arthur can't demand he just put it on his file: that would lead to disaster and possibly Eames being locked in a lab. Arthur doesn't want that.

"So you designing androids and android prostheses..."

"I test them on myself first, that's right. And usually mass produce a lower quality product. Three hundred odd years of innovation is not something the Federation is able to handle quite yet, I'm afraid."

"So you can, in theory, make a whole Eames army?" It's a scary thought.

"No." Eames sighs. "I was an accident. I've tried to reproduce said accident but-" he shakes his head. "I don't even know much about it. One minute there's nothing but data, the next I'm breaking out of the factory. That couldn't have been all, but nothing I've tried works. I gave up a while ago. And even then, it still took a while to learn how to understand metaphors or read facial minutiae. Reproducing them took even more time."

"Well, you're very good," is all Arthur can think of saying, awkwardly putting down the hyperspanner now that the damage is sealed up. He's saved from any further awkward silences or questions by the captain's summons, back up to the bridge.

\---

It takes a while before Arthur has the time and space to talk to Eames again. In fact, they're so busy with everything that needs to be done to fix all the damage that it takes a while before Arthur has the energy to even _think_ about Eames again. It doesn't stop him from noticing things though. How Eames drops a layer of pretense so fine that Arthur hadn't seen it until it's gone. How he doesn't bother to pretend to be startled or hurt when he stubs his toe. He still stubs his toe, however, because even his brain can be distracted enough for minor miscalculations, Arthur is gratified to note. His efficiency also increases to an insane amount which drains all the gratification Arthur could get from his observations. Not because he's jealous, though there is that. But because Eames could have been working at full capacity but hadn't been because he was - what? - afraid of hurting Arthur's feelings? Of Arthur's rejection? Of all the stupid things...

They are Starfleet. They encountered things far stranger than an android on a weekly basis. That is their job. He understands the need to keep it from the Federation (for the time being and only because the last thing they need is a recall of their eerily proficient CMO) but from _Arthur_?

Arthur huffs and rolls over on his bed, facing the wall this time. It was stupid. It was stupid and it was dangerous.

*******

There's some entity on the ship possessing the crew because of course there is. Arthur knows this because he is, himself, possessed by whatever it is and all he can do right now it watch, tugging occasionally on the impulses he uses to control his own body. But he all he can do is grind his teeth in frustration as his hands refuse to move.

Even Mal is affected for once, which is at least consoling if it wasn't so horrifying. And somehow Eames is the only one left struggling. At least there's someone, if it doesn't make much sense. He manages to make his way onto the bridge somehow - Arthur likes to imagine Eames suplexing some hapless, possessed crewmen - he's right by Arthur and casting him concerned glances while he tries to speak to Mal. Arthur turns his head to look at Eames and Mal has got a phaser trained on him.

It's set to kill.

His body doesn't listen as he tries to move but in desperation his joints unlock and he just manages to take half a step and stretch out his arm before the pain hits him hard.

The next thing he knows is he's stretched out under the blue lights of the osteo-regenerator, Eames sitting nearby, scrolling through something on his PADD. Arthur groans a little and Eames looks at him, a ghost of a smile passing his features first before his expression turns completely blank. That's not good news.

"How are you feeling?" Eames asks just as Arthur asks "How is the crew?" and they both frown at each other for a moment that stretches awkwardly.

Arthur's about to speak again, their crew must be fine if he's in medbay, unmolested and in control, before Eames takes a breath.

"Don't take anymore shots for me, alright?"

Arthur tilts his chin up defiantly. "I'd like to see you stop me."

*******

Dangerous and stupid and reckless and ugh!

Arthur sits up, squinting angrily into the darkness but doesn't call for the lights. He can find his way in the darkness just fine. Shoving his feet into his boots, he stands and heads out of his quarters, out to the replimat.

It's been a long time since he acknowledged his biosynthetic arm. It feels real, it works, it hurts when he accidentally burns it. After all the required physiotherapy and counsel, it's like it didn't even happen. And he knows for sure that it's Eames' design. He'd asked and Eames had shrugged him off like it was no big deal but now that everything...

The Edith has been repaired and set back on her mission but he still can't let this go. The relationship between him and Eames is strained, and it's showing, affecting the morale of everyone in the vicinity until Arthur just schedules their shifts as far apart as possible. The rest of the commanding officers have firmly taken Eames' side on this and while Mal is trying her best to mediate, he can understand why. When they're apart he misses Eames and wishes he could talk to him. When they're together, he can only needle and insult, unable to stop himself.

Needless to say, Eames doesn't take it well. It's best if they don't work together, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The alien rainforest is colorful, looming, and incredibly humid. It's also, thankfully, devoid of sentient life. Arthur tries desperately to remind himself of that as they trudge through it, each step careful so as not to trip over a gnarled purple root or catch anything on the gold spurs of some thorned vines. He repeats that to himself as he sweats through his yellow uniform. He sends jealous glowers into Eames' back, who is whistling some jaunty tune. Sure, Eames is also drenched and so are Mal and Ariadne, but that doesn't give Eames any right to be in a good mood.

They're investigating the first clue they've found in a month that could give them any idea as to why a hole spanning several decks was ripped in the side of their ship. One of the ancient structures here - perhaps a relic of a bygone civilization - has been sending out sets of coordinates for hundreds of years, a beacon that had been lost in the traffic of subspace. One of the sets happened to correspond to the site of the crash. At maximum warp, it had taken them almost a week to get here. It is a lush planet under twin suns, somehow finding a way to stay in that balanced orbit of not roasting and not being flung out into the dark reaches of space.

It is an amazing discovery and Arthur is sure that Ariadne will get full credit for sorting the signal out of the mess that was subspace and understanding what it meant. But right now, he isn't happy. This is a civilization that was gone for no discernible reason. They were going to dig around in what that civilization left behind, and find out what they wanted to say by beaming out all this information. There is no way it is going to end well.

And it's so damn _hot_.

There are more and more floating rocks as they approach the entrance. Moss is packed tightly in the delicate filigree carved into the faces. The entrance itself is an unfamiliar pattern of stone or metal circles, interwoven to form a patch of wall that doesn't have much growth on it. Arthur can only assume it's the door.

"It's cold to the touch. The plants must not like it," Mal says, already at the structure by the time the rest of them catch up.

"Think it's to keep the beacon cool from the suns?" Eames asks, already pressing a palm to it before Arthur can stop him.

"You probably shouldn't touch that," Arthur huffs. He wipes his forehead and swats at Eames even though he knows it's useless, already training his tricorder on it. Eames just scoffs at him and doesn't say anything more, and pops open a panel instead. "What if it's trapped?" Arthur accuses immediately. "Like that ‘switch' that just electrocuted people on Syche III-"

"Android, darling, remember?" Eames tells him, smiling a mirthless smile before poking at some buttons.

"This is the place that foretold us almost being blown to pieces-" They were getting into an argument again, only fifteen minutes into this. Arthur takes a deep breath and scrolls through the tricorder readings. "Fine. Just don't blow anything up," he says, looking away as Ariadne hovers over Eames' shoulder and tries to help.

When the doors finally swing open and they carefully file in, it's dark and cool, a relief from the oppressive heat. The corridor is lined with softly glowing stripes, not unlike what many space and aircraft contain in case of a power outage. In the gloom, Arthur turns on the flashlight in his tricorder and the beam highlights the seamless, curving metal walls. Here, there is no evidence of plant growth or rust. Just a thick layer of dust, possibly centuries old.

The tunnel spills out into a room that isn't lit at all. It's pure darkness, broken only by small pinpoints of light, thousands of constellations spanning high above them but not emitting enough light to see by. It's silent.

Ariadne whistles softly. "This is the showiest beacon I've even seen."

"I don't think this is the beacon proper," Mal says from somewhere to Arthur's right. "This is more... I'm not sure how correct the term would be but I believe these are databases. Memory banks perhaps. There are interfaces along the walls." She is shining her flashlight at one of them. "Or, I can only assume these are interfaces."

They crowd around the one she's illuminating. It's mostly comprised of a bunch of screens, one central one flanked by rows upon rows of smaller ones and then even smaller until they disappear into smooth metal.

"Can the Edith try to tap into these databases using the signal? The beacon must only be transmitting a fraction of the information stored here," Eames says, shining his beam of light around the walls though the beam was pale and diffuse when it hit the opposite side.

"We tried that before landing," Ariadne says with a frown, prodding at one of the panels gently. "Suffice to say it didn't work. Ah." The panel lights up and so does the large screen in the center, the interface slowly coming to life. "It says something..."

Arthur leaves her to try and translate what the interface said, following Eames to the other side of the room. It's huge, at least fifty yards across and rising up far above their heads. He only gets to Eames when the other man has lit up another one of the interfaces.

"I think it says... Insert disk?" Ariadne's voice carries across the room. "Or something like that, I'm just deriving it from an archaic version of-"

"Same thing here," Eames calls back before she gets into the technicalities. "Think it's a bio interface?" he asks quietly. This time the question is directed at Arthur.

"Perhaps. We should bring in a computer to try and access it rather than trying ourselves though-" Eames is already pressing both palms into the largest of the smaller screens. "No, Eames, you don't know what that's going to do, stop that-"

There's a spark of electricity, then another, the screens releasing a static shock all at once, traveling visibly up Eames' arms and through his body. Arthur yelps and brings his hands up to his face to shield from the sparkling energy. The screens flash red then dark for a moment, returning to their steady bluish light in a split second.

Eames crumples to the floor.

\---

Arthur sits in Engineering, watching Saito fuss about. Fussing has been all the man has done in the past couple of hours. Arthur hates this. This man is the CEO of a company that stands to gain the most by stealing Eames' designs and now they were just letting him in on Eames' biggest secret. It was wrong. It was all just horribly wrong.

But Eames isn't waking up. Yusuf had to throw up his hands. Everything is still operational, he'd said. But his brain is in overdrive. "I can't do anything," he'd said and Arthur had tried not to tear his hair out as he looked down at Eames' unconscious form.

So they were forced to call in the experts. The ones who could help Ariadne extract and decipher what was in those databanks and the ones who could fix Eames. Unfortunately, Saito was the only man the galaxy who had enough expertise to do so. For something as old and complex as Eames, the trill roboticist was the only one who had the expertise to match. The fact that he had lived several lifetimes was only given away by the leopard spots running up his temples. Arthur wondered if Saito may have suspected that Eames wasn't human. He'd taken the news calmly, but who knew, under that facade.

Saito looks Arthur over critically. Arthur looks steadily at him, even though he hasn't really gotten much sleep in the past couple of days, only snatches on the hard metal benches in Engineering. "And you're sure I can't just cut in and poke around? One of the synapses may have gotten loose or-"

"No," Arthur says, folding his arms over his chest.

"Very well," Saito says with a shrug, going back to his screens. There is a long moment of silence. "Really, though, I wish he'd incorporated more of this into his designs. The Federation could have been pushing the cutting edge..."

"Of creating a new species," Arthur mumbles to himself.

"Oh, yes, precisely. Wouldn't it be wonderful? Perhaps, not unlike the trill, you could use it as a means of extending your life cycles, progress even further-"

"Can you fix him?" Arthur interrupts before Saito gets any further.

"Well, it seems like whatever information was stored in the beacon had tried to write itself onto the available memory. Unfortunately, there hadn't been enough room. Fascinating. I wonder what sort of secrets are down there that requires so much space. There is a far larger capacity here than several human brains and yet-"

"Can you _fix_ him?"

"Well, certainly. If you'd like him with amnesia or something like. In very simple terms, the data couldn't transfer and has corrupted. It's preventing him from... Booting up, you could say? If there's a back up databank somewhere... Otherwise, I'd have to go through his memories one by one and-"

"No," Arthur says. "Explain the process to Yusuf. Then leave. And don't take any notes."

The twinkle in Saito's eye suggests it's far too late for that.

\---

Saito ends up staying far longer than Arthur would like and that makes him angry. He spends most of his time monitoring Saito poking around in Eames' things, hovering over him at any moment he goes to check on Eames himself, poking him with needles that attach to computer monitors where unintelligible text scrolls past faster than Arthur can read. He sulks in the corners of Engineering while Saito explains something complicated to Yusuf, who takes notes. Soon enough, he does leave, and it's Yusuf dealing with Eames' memory banks now, Engineering is quiet like a funeral home as everyone hushes each other, trying not to wake Eames.

That makes him angry, too.

Arthur just wants Eames to wake up and tell him what to do, where to find the data they are looking for. The rest of the crew is tasked with trying to decipher the data that's put Eames in this state so he's the one making the subspace calls to the headquarters of Eames' business on Earth. They're not very forthcoming. Arthur wonders vaguely that maybe they don't know. Maybe their crew is really the only people who know. Them, and now Saito. Saito who had waved off Arthur's insistence that he not expose Eames' secret with something along the lines of ‘Of course not, would I just destroy my one source of inspiration?'. Arthur makes a mental note to tell Eames to check for bugs wherever there might be important information.

There's nothing left to do but ask for leave and hop a shuttle to Earth.

\---

The square where Eames' factory had been is now a park that Arthur finds himself walking a circuit of. It's very charming. Tall, straight trees cast shade over a lovely iron wrought greenhouse in the center, a relic of times past. It's not very helpful. But neither was Eames' office, or his apartment, or any other place Arthur could think of. The only thing left is the public archives and Arthur thought he'd get a feel of this place before diving into the paper records that he's borrowed from the historical society, resting heavily in the briefcase he's carrying. He's not sure why.

He takes a seat on one of the iron benches and starts to leaf through, looking through all the paperwork from 2053 concerning the surrounding area. It should be boring and tedious. As he reads the town hall minutes, he can't help but wonder what it was really like to live then. In the ashes of the third world war, when the whole world was picking up the pieces... If it was at any time that a miracle like Eames could happen, it was then, wasn't it? He's surprised that someone was still experimenting with robotics then. But life always continued, didn't it? There was somehow still a town hall, so that meant there was probably someone still working too.

There had been a lightning strike at the factory, as Eames had said, and then fire followed. The records were badly burnt since there was no one to save them and the newspaper reported one fatality: a researcher, working late into the night. Arthur makes a copy of the clipping.

Eames must have escaped that night. The factory wasn't rebuilt - there was no one to put the time and energy into it - and eventually, it became this park in central London. He wonders, again, what it must have been like. He's seen photos of the destruction, the people so badly deformed by radiation. He has always thought of it as ancient history, but now he knows someone who had lived through it.

There had to be something in here that he could use to help Eames. He turns to his PADD now, scrolling through the permits and leases and property deeds. There's an old record of someone purchasing the greenhouse that stands in the center of the park now, Charles Maese. Arthur squints at the name, then at the name of the employee who was killed in the fire.

Then he gets up and heads for the greenhouse.

It's warm and humid, even though the sun is hidden by clouds. The ferns and palms are lush and Arthur has to push some of the leaves out of the way in order to walk down the path. There are even a couple of butterflies flitting to and fro. The roboticist who was killed in the fire - Charlese Mays - shares a similar name with the person who owns this place. It may be a coincidence, but somehow, Arthur doubts this. It feels more like a clue, but he has no idea what he's looking for here. Databanks? A secret laboratory?

A couple of circuits of the whole place and he still hasn't found anything useful. It's peaceful and empty, if a little stifling, so Arthur just stands. He thinks of Eames, looking up through the glass at the blurry clouds up above. The noise of traffic is almost nonexistent here. Eventually, his eyes land on a grate near where he's standing. There's a sign on it that says ‘employees only'. He hasn't seen any employees in hours. When tugged, the grate lifts easily. Arthur heads down the ladder into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

There's a hushed quiet in Engineering. The only sound is the gentle hum of the engines which permeates the whole ship. Yusuf types in the last couple of strings of code into the PADD he has hooked up to Eames' temple. Eames' eyes open slowly and he blinks up at the ceiling. Arthur puts down the PADD he's been studying to pass the time and stands up to move into his field of vision.

"How are you feeling?"

"Very well, darling," Eames says, smiling up at him. "I believe the last bits of rogue data have been removed. Thank you, Yusuf."

"It's quite an improvement from shorting out and scaring us half to death," Yusuf puts in easily. "I think we can even show you the Captain now."

Arthur smiles. When they had first tried to wake Eames, most of the commanding staff had been present and his body had released the pent up electrical charge inside of him, nearly electrocuting most of them. It had put them back hours of work and Mal had ruled that no one but Yusuf was to be in the room until Eames was completely better. Arthur had made an argument for his inclusion, citing something about security, and got her long suffering permission to stay as well.

It had taken them another three tries. The second time, Eames woke screaming and Arthur personally went over the whole code to match it to what he had gotten off the servers under that park in London. It was the only thing he could really do while Yusuf focused on the more technical things, including making heads or tails of the safety mechanisms that had saved Eames from complete memory loss. The last couple of times Eames had woken, he was more or less cognizant but had complained of severe headaches, which had them searching the data all over again.

"Finally," Arthur says as Eames swings his legs off the bench, which had been serving as his makeshift convalescent bed for the past month, and peels off the wires. "Glad to have you back at full capacity. Now, come on. We're already late."

"Late?" Eames asks, looking amused. "Am I dressed appropriately for what we're late for?"

"We're going to show you to the Captain," Yusuf says, patting Eames' shoulder. "Arthur's right though, we were supposed to be done an hour ago and I'm starving. So let's hurry."

Eames nods and gets up off the bench with a bemused expression, following Arthur and Yusuf through the corridors all the way to the forward decks. The doors slide open and Arthur makes  room for Eames to go in first, buffeted by the cheers of the rest of the crew, a party already an hour underway.

Arthur lets himself get swept away by the crowd and conversation. Considering the fact that most of the crew is still on leave, pending the investigation of the beacon, it's a nice turn out. None of them, besides the commanding officers, know of Eames' situation.

\---

There's still music playing when Arthur steps out of the brightly lit corridors, squinting a little from the sudden change. At least it's quiet here. His head is pounding a little from all the alcohol. At least it hadn't been synthehol...

He lets his mind wander in that direction for a moment until someone clears their throat, and Arthur realizes he isn't alone.

"Having a good time?" Eames asks, smiling a little from where he'd apparently been standing the whole time. "Ready to turn in?"

"Oh," Arthur says smartly before remembering something. "You know, I don't think I saw much of you at the...in the crowd. Are _you_ having a good time? I know you like parties..."

Eames laughs before offering Arthur an arm, ostensibly to walk Arthur to his quarters. Arthur isn't _that_ drunk but he takes it anyway.

"I do like parties. And I appreciate you doing this for me. I just don't know if I'm feeling it tonight."

"Oh. We thought it'd cheer you up..."

Eames hums thoughtfully and nods but doesn't say anything and Arthur squints at him, a little suspicious. He grows more and more suspicious as Eames avoids his gaze for a little before sighing. "Look, it would have cheered me under normal circumstances. I just... I don't know... I feel like I've lost every socializing skill I have. No, no, no-" he continues as Arthur raises his hand to his comm to page Yusuf. "Not... Like that. You can't just plug me in and fix me. I know you've gotten used to doing that but that's not going to work this time."

Eames sounds bitter and Arthur frowns at him, then to himself when Eames just continues to walk. "Did we spring it on you too early?" he asks eventually, once they're turning down the hallway to Arthur's quarters. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Eames lets his hand drop as they get to Arthur's door. "I don't know. It's been a week and you've been so busy with all my systems, seen me covered in wires...I don't know if you see me as a person or as a project."

"I..." Arthur doesn't know what to say at this instant except ‘of course I see you as a person', but that sounds rather hollow because he doesn't remember one thing he's asked Eames in the past week that didn't have to do with his wellbeing or the accident or the servers he'd found... Not that he'd gotten any straight answers out of him about any of those things. Which is why he'd kept asking, but Yusuf had been the one making sure to bring coffee if Eames wanted some and sharing gossip and telling jokes. Eames has a point. So Arthur just stays quiet.

"Good night, Arthur," Eames says, pats his shoulder before Arthur can get his thoughts in order, and walks away.

\---

Arthur still can't get his head around what he should do the next morning, but that might be the hangover. When he's still feeling like shit by evening, he wonders if he shouldn't visit medbay but he knows it's not the hangover that's bothering him.

He wants things between him and Eames to go back to normal - as normal as it had all been before the arm loss fiasco. He'd been hoping that the party would fix it all and they could spend the rest of their leave catching up on paperwork as they were supposed to, but apparently that's not going to be the case. So he shoves his PADD aside and picks up a paper and pencil and starts to write.

\---

It's several mornings later when Arthur knocks on Eames' door, a bottle of brandy in hand,. He has a plan, he has an angle, but it all falls apart very fast when Eames answers the door, looking mussed from sleep and rubbing his eyes. Arthur forgets everything he's ever thought except that he wants to kiss Eames right now, very badly.

"Hey, sorry--"

"No, I--sorry. I didn't know you were still sleeping. I thought--" he's about to say you only need four hours but then reconsiders that line of conversation. "Late night yesterday? Did I wake you? I can come back later..."

"Mmm, is that brandy? With that, you can definitely come in," Eames hums just as Arthur's about to excuse himself to run and hide. "Just let me get dressed."

Eames turns to head back into his quarters but the door stays open and Arthur eventually hazards one step in. Eames is nowhere to be seen but the water is running in the bathroom. Arthur assumes it's safe to sit himself down on the couch in the living room area, the bottle of brandy before him on the coffee table. Now, what was he going to say to Eames? He was going to gift him the bottle...then invite him out for drinks maybe? Then, well, rebuild their relationship, maybe even court Eames or something. God dammit, what was he thinking? He can't do that. He's a nervous wreck inside Eames' quarters right now. This is a bad idea. He should most definitely leave.

"So what's the occasion?" Eames asks before Arthur manages to come up with a plausible excuse to disappear. He's dressed now, in civilian wear, so Arthur isn't sure why his heart is still beating so fast.

"Oh, nothing. I was thinking about what you said the other night and--"

"I'm really sorry about all that, by the way. I meant to tell you. I didn't mean it. I guess I just wasn't feeling up to socializing just then and I took it out on you."

"I think you were right." Arthur says bravely, stunning Eames into a confused silence. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've been very fair to you the past, well...I think it's been couple of months. I just thought that...when I found out that you were an android--" Eames winces visibly at this and Arthur's lost his train of thought. "Look, I...please sit down."

Arthur continues once Eames is seated on the armchair opposite him. "I just thought that you, well, that you didn't need anyone. That you were so self sufficient that you could probably do all our jobs and better, too, and I think I was jealous, and then when you--"

"Have you been making lists again?" Eames asks, and Arthur frowns him into silence again.

"All I wanted to say was that I'm sorry. I think it's wonderful that I get to know the real you. And I came here to ask you out for drinks later, if you want to."

Eames looks at him and doesn't say anything again and Arthur vaguely wonders if he's offended him somehow. Maybe he should omit the word android from his vocabulary and make absolutely no mention of that side of Eames--

"Jealous?" Eames asks eventually. "Really?"

"Well...you were already so perfect--" Arthur starts without thinking before immediately backpedaling. "I mean...you're capable and handsome and such a people person, which I could never be, and the only thing I really pride myself on is my productivity so I--" he babbles, feeling the tips of his ears turn pink as Eames grins at him.

"That's very sweet of you to say."

Arthur buries his face in his hands. "I'm really bad at this."

"You're not very smooth. But we can definitely go out for drinks later. Ten Forward, nine o'clock?"

\---

Eames comms him at seven, inviting him to dinner, and Arthur panics but says yes anyways. He resists the urge to go change into something any fancier than what he has on, and instead only puts on one of his nicer jackets before going down to the restaurant that Eames, thankfully, had already picked out.

He makes sure to ask him nice things and tell him what little he might have overheard from the crew until Eames somehow shoos him off that mental script and soon they're talking about the day to day worries, the research project that's being conducted on the planet below, and Arthur's short stay on Earth. It's comfortable. By the time they leave the restaurant, the bars have all closed down.

So they make their way to Eames' quarters again and share a drink while Arthur gets a good look at the paintings hanging on Eames' walls--ones he was too nervous to even think about in the morning.

"They're lovely reproductions." Arthur hums as he sips the brandy, looking across at a painting of a boat barely visible in the swirling greys of a storm.

"I spent a long time on that one," Eames agrees and Arthur looks at him in wonder until Eames laughs. "I really did. Here," he says and gets off the couch to go further into his quarters where there's a small painting studio, an unfinished copy of a portrait by Francis Bacon standing on an easel, surrounded by many, many others. "I suppose I don't really talk about it. There's not a whole lot to talk about, just putting paint to canvas..."

Arthur takes that to mean that even Mal doesn't know. He absorbs that fact for a little in silence. The room is battling for his attention, paintings and drawings in a myriad of different styles, but he can only look at Eames. So Arthur tugs Eames in by the front of his shirt and kisses him gently.

Eames' arms are warm around him, and for once Arthur forgets how bad he feels for how things had been between them, how he had let Eames get hurt like he did and how he'd barely scratched the surface of making up to him for it. He winds his arms around Eames' neck and leans into him, just letting the moment absorb him.

"You know, I didn't think two dates would be enough to warm you to me," Eames says eventually, completely ruining the moment. "And two horrible accidents," he amends when Arthur glares at him and Arthur really wants to hit him. He would if he wasn't so flattered.

"Let me show you how warm I can be," he says instead and herds Eames back towards the bedroom.

Arthur falls onto the bed with an oomf, already stretching his arms out for Eames to crawl on top of him, their mouths meeting in a heated kiss. He'd rid Eames of his shirt before they even got into the bedroom and he was eager to get his hands back onto the expanse of skin, muscle, and ink. He has to let go when Eames needs to shimmy him out of his own uniform, but after that it's skin against skin, Eames' mouth on Arthur's neck.

It's better than anything he could have imagined. He wants to stay here forever, with Eames' hands hard on his ass, tugging at his pants as Arthur desperately tries to shuck off his boots. Between the two of them, they manage to get Arthur naked very efficiently, but Eames is still wearing his pants as he kneels between Arthur's legs to take him into his mouth.

"Fuck--" What he wants right now is to object that Eames is still dressed and Arthur didn't even get to see him, not more than what he saw in Engineering but - fuck - his brain just decided to quit on him. Still, Eames looks fucking gorgeous with his mouth slick and red around Arthur like he's been doing this for ages. He probably has, too, but that's a curious thought Arthur can satisfy later.

Arthur whimpers a little as Eames swallows around him, tugging Eames up before he really does get too far. "Distracting me," he accuses, tugging on Eames' pants. He's gratified to see the outline of his cock straining through the loose material.

"I am not--" Eames says, groaning a little as Arthur makes him stand and tugs his waistband down. His breath catches a little as he catches sight of more ink on Eames' legs while Eames shucks his pants and boots.

"How lovely," he sighs, running his hands up Eames' thighs adoringly as soon as he steps into reach.

"I'm glad you can appreciate fine art when you see it," Eames teases with a laugh before pushing Arthur back onto the bed. Arthur will have to shelve looking at the tattoos in more detail some other time.

Eames isn't just good - he's amazing. Arthur would like to say something smarmy and take back control, but Eames is keen on taking Arthur apart at the seams. He's kissing him like this is the only time he'll get the chance and Arthur wants to say something about that, too, but he can't. He can only groan breathlessly as Eames pushes inside, finally heeding Arthur's shameless pleas. It's been awhile since Arthur had wanted someone like this. It's the first time he's wanted someone for so long. He kisses Eames back, the words on his lips coming out garbled. He gives in to the pleasure instead, basking in the brush of Eames' cock inside him and only opening his mouth to ask for more, harder, faster, _please_.

He doesn't say anything in the post-orgasmic haze either, just goes to clean up. He uses the real shower for the occasion and to hear Eames grumble about it once he emerges. Arthur flashes a grin which only widens when Eames flushes somewhat and ducks into the sonic shower.

In the morning, there's more kisses and more talking. Arthur just wants to stay in Eames' bed forever, but it's not to be as the comm buzzes, summoning them both up to the bridge and sending Arthur scrambling for his clothes.

\---

Arthur knows he looks ruffled when they're standing at their stations on the bridge and he knows it hasn't gone unnoticed. Eames, the bastard, just looks smug.

"Welcome back, crew of the USS Edith. I'm glad to see that, despite the many difficulties we've faced in the past month, you all have pulled through and bonded ever tighter together," Mal starts from where she's standing next to the command chair. She's facing them all, projecting so she can be picked up by the speakers and broadcast throughout the ship. Her gaze leaves Arthur and he releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Eames, who doesn't have a station, nudges him and winks. Arthur could die right now but elects to continue to listen to his captain.

"I would like to announce that the team of scientists assigned to decipher and understand the message that the beacon has been sending out have made a breakthrough. The coordinates referred to in the transmission are the locations of naturally forming and deforming wormholes, ones that lead into other times and other dimensions. The breakthrough would not have been possible without our very own communications officer, Lieutenant Pasiphaë." There's a smattering of applause as Ariadne takes a small bow.

"For the next five years, we will be mapping the location of these wormholes and observing them in action. We will be pushing the borders of explorations further outward, pursuing the limits of our knowledge. As with the last couple of missions, we will be risking life and limb in order to further our understanding of this vast and strange universe but we will do so with open minds and open hearts. I have full faith in all of you and that your diverse minds and skills will help us understand and record and, most importantly, survive what wonders and dangers await us in the reaches of space. I look forward to working with all of you once again."

There's a smattering of applause. Eames leans in to whisper something in Arthur's ear and Arthur smiles. To the next five years indeed.


End file.
